


Toska

by Arinalle Fanirei (ShakyHades)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Wings, Domestic Fluff, Fantasy Medical Procedures, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nesting, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, although the shipping is not the focus of this fic, self-neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26310337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShakyHades/pseuds/Arinalle%20Fanirei
Summary: Russian; (...) it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness.~Prompto has never liked his own wings: the grey feathers are dull at best and entirely lacking in gracefulness. To top it all off, his parents had never been around long enough to teach him how to care for them properly, which only creates its own share of issues, thus strengthening his dislike of the fluffy appendages. The low-level ache they give off has been a constant in his life for almost a decade now, so, at this point, Prompto has resigned himself to feeling it for the rest of his days.But he may learn how to like them, with enough time and a little help from his friends.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 12
Kudos: 89





	Toska

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeelloooooo, my promptis readers, I am back on my bullshit.  
> I actually started writing this fic in May 2018, but I've always been more than a little terrified of posting the starts of tons of longfics and then leaving them unfinished, so I promised myself that I would only starting posting this one once I finished it. It's been a couple years, however, and I've recently started _and_ finished a nearly 180k fic for another fandom, so I have a bit more faith in my abilities now, lmao.  
> I have two and a half chapters for this done, though the second chapter needs a fair amount of edits seeing as I wrote it in January 2019. I don't really think I'll be continuing to wirte this right away, cause I have a fair amount of other stuff that I want to go through, but, here it is!  
> Lastly, while I typically try my utmost to be as realistic as possible, in this story I'm doing a handful of things just for the hell of it, so.... be ready to suspend disbelief at parts, I guess. Enjoy!

Prompto Argentum does not like his own wings.

He finds their gray color uninteresting -- _boring_ \-- when compared to the many beautiful golden, red and brown hues seen everywhere around Insomnia; with the rare green or blue thrown into the mix. It comes as no surprise that he likes Noctis’ wings best: the lustrous black of every feather proudly announces his status as royalty, during the times Noctis chooses to show them. And even if they were a different color, the shiny, well-kept wings would be evidence enough to risk a guess of his high social standing.

Prompto, on the other hand, avoids having his out in the open as much as humanly possible. He knows they’re a mess: most of the feathers are misaligned, bent or broken; there is dirt stuck deep in some sections, hidden in painful spots he doesn’t have the courage to mess with; and the particular tone of gray makes them _seem_ dirty even in the clean sections. Showing them would only attract attention and, even worse, _questions_ \-- so hiding them has always been a must.

It’s not that he _likes_ having them in this state -- they _hurt_ and itch like hell even on a good day _,_ but there’s not much he can do other than sit while twiddling his thumbs. He knows he should ask for help, but who could he even approach? How could he go up to someone to ask _‘hey, I never learned how to groom my wings, can you teach me?’_ and not die of embarrassment in the process?

Wings are too personal of a thing to let just anyone groom them, anyway. However, they’re also hard to tend to alone, because most of the sensitive sections are also the hardest to reach: the scapulars, as well as the shoulder blades themselves.

He’s tried to look for tutorials and articles -- online or otherwise -- but the issues he finds are always considerably simpler and easier to fix than his, which diminishes their helpfulness quite drastically. Prompto doesn’t know what to do at this point; the only options available are the ones he won’t put into motion, be it from lack of courage or from not yet having reached a high enough level of desperation.

In this limbo state, the only thing he _can_ do is _keep going_. So that’s what he does.

x

One Friday evening, Prompto feels a particular, familiar itch: the need to be in a nest; to be safe, secure and protected. He goes through the usual motions of making space in the living room; then cleans the floor before he can start to arrange his blankets and pillows on it.

It’s relaxing work -- it’s pure instinct that guides his hands and chooses what goes where; what gives it a good look _and_ maximum comfort. Prompto summons his wings on a whim at some point, making sure they are intangible near his back so as to not wreck his shirt as he continues building the nest.

His mindless humming is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing, which has him startling so badly he almost throws the pillow he’s holding. He panics as he looks at the state of the living room around him while wondering who the hell it could be; trying desperately to decide if it’d be too rude to just ignore whoever it is until they go away.

He makes up his mind with a huff when it rings again -- two short bursts of tinny sound that tell him his visitor probably won’t be so easily deterred by Prompto’s silence. He yells out a quick _‘I’m coming!’_ to stop the person from ringing the doorbell yet again while he tucks his wings back into the aether, standing up and walking to the door as soon as that’s done.

He’s surprised to find Noctis standing outside, squirming slightly with a sheepish expression. Feeling reasonably confused, Prompto can do little other than stare in askance as Noctis scrambles to explain himself.

“Sorry for coming by so suddenly, I really should’ve asked beforehand -- which I kinda only remembered when I got here…” Noctis grimaces, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I got a free day and ended up getting kinda close to your place so I thought it’d be nice if we hung out a little? But I can leave if you want, it looks like you were in the middle of something…” he trails off, glancing to the space above Prompto’s shoulder, where the faint afterglow of his wings are apparent and downright incriminating.

Prompto blinks rapidly for a second before starting to fidget as well, completely unsure of how to respond. It _would_ be nice to hang out with Noctis for a few hours, but he’s also not sure if the other would be okay with sticking around considering what Prompto is doing.

“...Come on in,” Prompto says after a few more seconds, opening the door a little wider to give Noctis enough space to do so.

It’ll probably be awkward, but he also really wants company; he doesn’t really know what it’s like to nest with someone around, and Prompto can’t help but think that Noctis could give him the feeling of being _protected_ that he’s craving at the moment.

“You sure?” Noctis asks with a small frown, lingering outside the door with uncertainty.

“Yeah, as long as you don’t mind sitting around on a ratty old couch that could never even _dream_ of being as fancy as your designer one,” Prompto retorts with a quick grin, wishing to lighten things up a little bit.

He knows his attempt has been successful when Noctis smiles, finally taking the invitation that the wide-open door provides. “As long as it hasn’t gained sentience yet, it’s fine by me,” he says with a smile that’s turning into a teasing smirk. Prompto grins again, more genuinely this time.

“Such low standards for a prince,” he fires back. It doesn’t take long for Prompto’s smile to disappear, however: he takes hold of Noctis’ arm to stop the other on his tracks, feeling the need to somehow warn him of what’s waiting just beyond the threshold to the living room. “Uh, I hope this won’t be too weird, but… I was in the middle of building a nest?” he says finally, insecurity twisting his tone at the end and making it sound like a question.

Noctis’ eyes widen just enough to be perceptible, darting again to the aura of Prompto’s wings. He spends a long moment studying Prompto’s expression with more intent than before, but eventually gives him the slightest of shrugs. “I’m cool if you are,” he says at last. “But you can kick me out anytime you want.”

“Okay,” Prompto says, holding Noctis' gaze for a handful more seconds to assure himself that the other is _really_ fine with it before finally giving a little nod as he releases his hold.

He gets right back to building and shaping while Noctis sits on the couch. There's still some tension in the air, but that's unsurprising -- though knowing it’s to be expected doesn't help Prompto's nerves at all. A small part of him regrets having to tuck his wings back in, but if that's to be the only consequence of Noctis' presence, Prompto will gladly do it a thousand times over.

He had finished the basic circular shape of the nest a few minutes before Noctis arrived, so now all Prompto needs to do is fortify the walls so as to make the inside as comfortable as humanly possible before he can dive right in and enjoy it.

They stay silent for a long time. The entirety of Prompto’s focus is taken up by the nest, but even in his single-mindedness, Prompto can still feel the familiar weight of Noctis' stare. He feels like it should be disquieting; to have someone watch him perform such a thing, but instead, it's almost _comforting_ , knowing that -- for the first time in gods know how long -- there is someone _there_ with him while he's doing this.

Once Prompto is finally satisfied with his creation, he stands up to inspect it one last time before carefully stepping in. He rolls around, messing the pillows and blankets inside; feeling his body relax as his instincts settle at last. For a moment, he even forgets that Noctis is there.

After said moment passes, Prompto sits up to look at the other, who has barely moved the entire time. His shiny, state-of-the-art phone is abandoned on the couch off to the side, with its screen lit and what seems to be King's Knight running. Noctis blushes at being caught staring so fixedly once their eyes meet, tilting his head downwards so as to hide his face behind his too-long bangs as he visibly fumbles for something to say.

"Is it good?" he asks a few seconds later, vaguely gesturing towards the nest.

"Uh, yeah-- I’m pretty good at making them by now," Prompto says, the awkwardness hitting him full-force now that he doesn't have something to occupy his mind and hands with.

"I-I'm glad then," Noctis stutters without lifting his head, reaching for a cushion to take it into his arms. Prompto feels the urge to do the same, but all his pillows were used up in the nest, so he wrings his hands instead.

Prompto looks around his own living room, desperate for something to talk about -- something to dispel this stifling, heavy air between them _._ As the seconds drag on and the need to _open his mouth and say something_ gets stronger, his filter goes offline for a heartbeat, giving his brain the opportunity to betray him.

"Hey Noct, do you--" he starts, then stops, immediately taking out a mental stick with which to beat his brain into a pulp. _Traitor! How could you do this to me!?_

Because now, see, Noctis is _interested_ \-- Prompto has conveniently provided something for the other to latch onto. Not only that, Noctis is unknowing of the mental beating going on and _way_ too prone to entertaining Prompto’s flights of fancy to drop the subject that easily.

"Do I what?"

"Uh," Prompto stutters, his face growing hot. Noctis keeps on looking at him with genuine curiosity in his eyes and Prompto is sadly not strong enough to resist the urge to spill the beans. "Do you... want to enter?"

" _Ent_ \--" Noctis cuts himself off then closes his mouth, his wide eyes staring directly at Prompto's. "Enter your _nest_?" he manages to say, clearly shocked.

Prompto only blushes harder, feeling panic start to bubble up inside his chest. "Only if you want to! Shit, I- I shouldn't have said that, I’m so sorry, please forget I said--"

Noctis carefully kneels outside the nest, deliberately avoiding contact with it. Amidst his panic, Prompto questions if this is some sort of etiquette he’s unaware of -- it wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened, after all.

"Hey, it's just- I didn't expect it, that's all. A nest is something... _private_ , I guess? So I'm surprised you'd offer."

“Ah,” Prompto says, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Is it… too strange? I made you uncomfortable didn’t I? I’m really sorry, you obviously don’t have to do it--”

“Hey, calm down for me, okay?” Noctis says, starting to reach for Prompto but retreating mid-action so as not to intrude. “Just, are you _sure_?”

Prompto worries his lower lip, maintaining eye contact with an expectant Noctis. “Um, could you explain it to me a little more, maybe? Then we’ll be on the same page, yeah?” he suggests, cringing internally at himself for not knowing it already.

Noctis nods, sitting down on the floor as Prompto adjusts his own position so they’re facing each other properly.

“As you know, the urge to nest comes from the wish to be protected, most times. It’s a safe haven; a place of warmth and comfort to share with your loved ones -- with people you really trust. So for you to just… ask that, out of the blue, kinda threw me off-kilter for a bit.”

“I can see why,” Prompto mumbles, scratching the back of his head.

“No harm done, seriously. Now that you know all this, though, do you maintain the offer?” Noctis asks, his voice tinged with hesitance and the barest hint of yearning.

Prompto leans forward, unable to completely hide his enthusiasm at the idea of _sharing his nest with someone._ Still, he does his best compose himself in order to fire back a question of his own.

“Do you _want_ to enter? I wouldn’t want you to do it if you’re just humoring me.”

Pink dusts Noctis’ cheeks again, followed by his face disappearing behind black strands for the second time that evening. “I… wouldn’t be opposed to it, no. But only if you really want me to do it.”

“Promise?”

“ _Gods,_ Prompto, yes I promise,” Noctis groans with fond exasperation laced into his tone and a slight smile on his lips.

Prompto smiles back, then extends a hand -- a silent reiteration of his previous invitation -- though this time it’s Noctis who looks deep into Prompto’s eyes to guarantee he’s truly fine with it before accepting.

Prompto scoots back as Noctis steps inside the nest, and they only remember to let go of each other’s hand when they’re both comfortably settled. Prompto watches nervously as his friend looks around and tests the structure with his hands.

“It’s a good nest, Prom,” Noctis says at last with an upward quirk of his lips; the praise makes happiness bubble up in Prompto’s chest. He _made_ this nest, and Noctis _approves_ of it.

“We could, um… play King’s Knight, maybe?” Prompto offers.

“That’s a good idea. There’s that new sprite that came out Monday -- I looked at his stats and man, he could help us absolutely _murder_ that pesky crab boss!”

“Really?? I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the announcement. If his requirements are anything like the last one’s, we’ll totally need to grind some dungeons.”

“Ugh, don’t even remind me of that… If I ever see another Gear Golem, I might snap.”

Noctis reaches for his phone still on the couch while Prompto rummages through the nest to find where the hell his own phone went. Once the game has loaded up and the soft music of the home screen fills the room, they lie on the nest side by side to start playing.

Most of the evening is lost to that -- to finding the best dungeon and discovering the setups that work best against their enemies, all to the game’s tinny soundtrack. It’s quiet, comfortable, and absolutely _amazing_ ; Prompto lovesit with every fiber of his being.

Eventually, however, his stomach starts to clamor for food. Prompto ignores it for a good while, unwilling to pop their little bubble of comfort and happiness, but then they lose their winning streak _and_ their rhythm in one fell swoop, so he decides he might as well do it now.

“Man, I’m really hungry,” Prompto says, sitting up to stretch his muscles and cracking a few joints in the process. “I’m gonna get something to eat, you want anything?”

Noctis sets his phone aside to rub his eyes with the heels of both hands. “Sure. We’ve been doing this for what, two hours now?” he comments with a small grin, tapping his phone screen to check the time.

“We _have_ ,” Prompto laughs.

Noctis looks up at him when he steps out of the nest. Prompto takes a second to file away the sight of his friend -- all in black, as usual -- inside a nest of Prompto’s own making, contrasting heavily with the colorful blankets around him.

“Want any help?”

“Nah, I just gotta reheat the leftovers from lunch,” Prompto shrugs with a smile. “No need for you to move.”

“If you say so.”

Prompto walks into the kitchen, more at ease with being the recipient of Noctis’ stare now that his auras have faded away. He even starts to sing some random song that his brain has decided to unearth under his breath while he figures out how much food should be enough for the two of them.

“Hey Prom,” Noctis calls.

Prompto hums to indicate he’s listening but doesn’t turn around, organizing the day’s dishes on the sink so he can wash them later.

“I just wanted to apologize again, for not warning you I’d be coming by,” his friend says, sounding appropriately regretful.

“It’s cool, dude. You’re always welcome here,” Prompto shrugs again, looking over his shoulder to give Noctis a genuine smile.

“Still…” Noctis trails off.

After almost a minute of silence, Prompto thinks that that’ll be the end of it -- but then Noctis speaks again.

“You had your wings out before I arrived,” he says, low and hesitant. Prompto goes tense. “I just-- I wanted to tell you that you don’t have to hide them just because I’m here. I swear I won’t judge them or anything like that,” he adds earnestly.

Prompto turns to face him. “I know you wouldn’t,” he says quickly, but Noctis looks unconvinced.

“We’re in _your_ house,” the other points out, firmly but gently. “I don’t want to cause you discomfort by being here. Really, I can go now if you want me to,” he insists.

“No, Noct, it’s okay really, there’s absolutely no need for you to go,” Prompto says, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “You’re not causing me any discomfort, I promise.”

Noctis holds his gaze. “But you _are_ hiding them,” he states.

Prompto begins to fidget. The microwave’s beeps shrilly behind him, but neither of them pay it any mind.

“We’ve been friends for two years, yet I’ve never seen you with your wings out. I could count the times I saw your auras in two hands and still have plenty of fingers.”

Prompto lowers his head, staring at the floor as if it’s the most interesting thing to ever exist. His fingers find a loose thread on the hem of his shirt to pull on without any input from his brain.

Noctis backtracks. “I’m not saying you’re obligated to show them to me, okay, absolutely not,” he reassures. “You owe me no explanations, and this is not me asking for anything of the sort, alright? It’s just that I-- I get worried about you,” he confesses softly.

The microwave beeps for a second time in the silence that follows, making Prompto scramble to turn it off. He has no idea what to say; on one hand, he feels almost honored by the fact that Noctis likes him enough to _worry_ ; on the other, Noctis is his _one friend_ and Prompto cringes at the thought of the other discovering how much of a _wreck_ he is. His mind’s eye conjures the image of his own wings, comparing them to Noctis’ -- which in turn causes an all-too-familiar surge of shame.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis sighs. “I shouldn’t have brought that up. It’s nowhere near my business.”

But buried beneath all the embarrassment and dots of happiness is something that looks a lot like _hope_. Others have expressed concern over the years, obviously -- he has some kind neighbors that try to have him talk about it every few months or so; he also has heard some whispers at school here and there; but those are always easy to brush off. The shame always wins out, and thus his lips remain shut on the matter.

But _Noctis_ \-- Noctis is a friend; his _best_ friend, and honestly, Prompto is a little bit tired of hiding, hurting, and enduring it in silence. Plus, Noctis is a prince; even if it turns out that he can’t help after all, he would most likely be able to get a hold of someone who can. Someone that could teach him what to do without any judgment.

“I should go,” Noctis mutters, pocketing his phone as he stands up.

“No!” Prompto exclaims, startling them both. “Stay. Please?”

“Are you sure?” Noctis frowns, receiving an energetic nod in response. “Okay…”

Prompto rips off a few strings of old, loose skin from his lips -- ignoring how it stings -- as he finally opens the microwave to grab their food. It has gone lukewarm already, but that’s not a problem; he divides it into two plates, grabs them two forks and heads back to the nest.

Noctis watches him cautiously as he does so, waiting for him to say something. Prompto ponders as he chews, playing referee to the arguing parts of his brain as they attempt to decide what to do next.

Showing his wings to Noctis would mean going against a resolution he had made years ago and maintained since then, but the only other option would be _talking_ about it, which is a deadset no. If he does nothing, however, it’s likely that Noctis will refrain from ever touching the subject again, meaning that Prompto’s only chance will go up in ashes.

He puts their plates on the coffee table once they’re done, stretching to do so without leaving the nest. A bit terrified out of his mind, he meets Noctis’ eyes after taking a deep breath, opening his mouth slowly.

“You swear you won’t judge,” he says, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

Noctis straightens his back almost imperceptibly. “I swear.”

Prompto breathes in, then out. He reaches into the aether in time with the exhale to call forth his wings, stretching them out half their full span to stop the trail end from touching the floor. Keeping them intangible near the base is almost second-nature by now; it’s a must, unless he wishes to destroy the shirt he’s wearing every time he summons them.

He keeps his eyes closed at first. He hears Noctis exhaling -- almost a gasp -- once his wings become material. Prompto thinks it carries a vague note of distress, but he pushes that out of his mind for the moment.

“Prompto,” Noctis mutters in a heavy tone, sounding somewhat solemn.

Prompto makes eye contact for a second -- noticing the sad frown and slightly twitching fingers -- before directing his gaze to his own lap.

“How long?” Noctis whispers.

Prompto hesitates to respond. “Years?” he offers at last, grimacing when Noctis’ frown deepens.

A part of him expects Noctis to go off on a tirade about how unhealthy that is and how he should have looked for help, but Prompto only gets silence instead.

“Does it hurt?”

Prompto tilts his head to the side before nodding once. Noctis starts to get closer, but then aborts the movement, settling back in the same spot.

After a few more seconds of nothing, Prompto decides to ask about something that has been puzzling him. “Why are your fingers twitching?”

Noctis looks surprised for a moment before curling both hands into fists to stop said motion as his expression turns sheepish. “Instinct, I guess.” he exhales, but Prompto only stares at him quizzically in response, so Noctis elaborates: “To-- _do_ something. Groom them.”

Prompto’s eyes widen. _Noctis wants to groom my wings?_ The notion feels too fantastical to be true; something straight out of a dream, or at least from one of the scenarios Prompto’s brain likes to come up with in moments of weakness.

Noctis fumbles for words in the resulting silence. “Shit, I probably shouldn’t have said that, you don’t let just anyone groom your wings, sorry--”

“You’re not ‘just anyone’,” Prompto frowns. Noctis shifts and smiles, quietly pleased.

“Still. It’s something to do with people you trust.”

Prompto lowers his gaze again, using his wings as an outlet to the nervous energy running through his veins. “I do trust you,” he mumbles.

When Prompto dares to look up, he sees that Noctis’ smile has grown. “I’m really happy to hear that.”

Prompto’s lips curl up out of their own volition. “You can do it, if you really want to. Grooming, I mean.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and Prompto nods. “Well, I can’t promise that it’ll be a good job, but I’ll definitely try my best,” he grins softly.

“That’s good enough for me,” Prompto grins back.

Noctis scoots to the edge of the nest. “Just sit with your back to me. You can take off your shirt too, if you want me to do the scapulars,” he instructs.

Prompto hesitates, caught between self-consciousness and the desire to take full advantage of the situation. Deciding on the latter, he shyly discards the shirt, pushing it to a corner as he settles in front of Noctis.

His friend doesn’t take long to get to work. To say that it’s weird to feel someone other than himself touching his wings after so long is an understatement, but Noctis’ hands are gentle and precise, realigning and fluffing up feathers as he goes. 

He starts where the wings sprout out from Prompto’s back; his touch becomes -- ironically enough -- feather-light after Prompto hisses involuntarily following a tug in a sore area, making Noctis mutter an apology along with a promise to be more careful. Prompto shrugs slightly in response, hugging one of his own legs to his chest.

He warns Noctis of other sore spots as the boy progresses. Some are so bad that Noctis prefers not to mess with them so as not to make matters worse, but that doesn’t stop him from working diligently to groom all the rest. Soon enough, the nest becomes littered with Prompto’s loose feathers -- ones that had died long ago, but that he’d never taken the time to remove.

When they’re nearing the half hour mark, Noctis speaks up all of a sudden, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of them..

“Would you mind if I summoned my own wings?”

Prompto looks over his shoulder. “Not at all.”

He turns a little to the side in order to watch and is briefly taken aback by the sight of Noctis taking off his own shirt. Their eyes meet when Noctis sets it aside, which makes both boys blush as they turn their heads away -- though Prompto’ is quick to return to its previous position, allowing him to stare in muted wonder as Noctis closes his eyes and calls forth his wings.

His friend takes a moment to unfurl them to their full span, almost knocking over their plates from the coffee table in the process. Next, Noctis brings them forward, following the nest’s circular shape and blocking out most of Prompto’s vision, staying like this for a few seconds before drawing them close to his back again.

Prompto gets the -- very familiar, to be quite honest -- urge to touch them. He has never asked for permission to do so before, although there have been some accidental brushes against them in the past; he wonders if he could find the courage to ask, now that he has been brave enough to show his own.

Things come to a brief standstill when Noctis’ grooming leads to a clump falling apart and releasing dust that had been stuck for gods-knew how long. He curses as he cups a hand underneath it, not wanting to get the nest dirty; Prompto tells him to just deposit it on the floor, and he’ll clean it up later. Noctis expresses some reluctance but eventually complies, going back to his work afterwards.

Once Noctis has done at least half of each wing, his phone rings. Prompto collects it -- it had found its way back to the organized mess of pillows and blankets at some point -- and looks at the screen.

“It’s Ignis,” he announces with his finger hovering over the _‘accept call’_ section.

“Put it on speaker?”

“Okay,” Prompto acquiesces, doing as he’s been told and holding the phone closer to Noctis.

“Hey Specs,” his friend greets.

“ _Hello Noct. I presume you are still in Prompto’s place?_ ” 

“Yep.”

“ _In that case, hello to you as well, Prompto._ ”

“Hi Ignis.”

“ _Noct, when would you like me to send the car to pick you up?_ ”

Noctis looks at Prompto. “Actually, I would like to sleep over, if I can?”

Prompto smiles. “Sure.”

“ _I don’t think that will be a problem, seeing as you have nothing on schedule tomorrow other than training with Gladio in the afternoon_ ,” Ignis says over the sound of rustling pages.

Noctis mouths a question to Prompto, who nods after a pause.

“I’m grooming Prompto’s wings,” he says, apropos of nothing.

The line goes silent for a beat. _“I see_ ,” Ignis acknowledges in a neutral tone. “ _Would you like me to send anything over?_ ”

“Nah, it’s okay. I can borrow some of Prompto’s clothes if I need.”

“ _Very well. I’ll be coming by around nine to pick you up, so I suggest you be awake and ready by then._ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” Noctis waves a hand dismissively.

Prompto ends the call once they’ve said their goodbyes, setting the phone back on the nest.

“Noct?” he asks a little later.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you want to tell him about… you know, this?”

“He was concerned about you too,” Noctis says gently.

Prompto frowns. “Why?”

Noctis exhales an almost-sigh and smiles. “For the same reason I was. I’m not the one one who noticed that you never show your wings, you know?”

Prompto says nothing to that, trying to understand why Ignis -- who is _Noctis’_ friend, not Prompto’s -- would be worried about him. They converse amicably enough when at Noctis’ apartment, sure, but Prompto is an outsider; if he’s being honest, the man still manages to instill a measure of fear into Prompto, even though it’s been two years since they first met.

Noctis sighs. “Why is that so difficult to believe?” he asks with a shake of his head, correctly guessing what’s on Prompto’s mind. “He wouldn’t make your favorites at least once a week if he didn’t like you,” he adds in a teasing tone.

Prompto’s wide-eyed stare is enough of a reply to Noctis, it seems, because he laughs softly.

“If you need to know, he’s happy that we’re friends -- he hasn’t said it outright, but I know he is. He’s pleased with how I’ve changed since we met,” he explains, not looking up from Prompto’s wings. “So really, I’m not just being nice when I tell you he likes you.”

Prompto turns his head away, slowly digesting and processing what has been said.

“Anyway, you don’t have to say anything about it,” Noctis shrugs. “I wanted to tell him because he’d get the-- _importance_ of this, kinda.”

“Okay,” Prompto nods. Noctis smiles before telling him to turn a little more to the left again, to give him access to the next section of feathers.

At some point, Prompto picks up a feather, gently spinning it with his fingers as he notes the different shades of grey and disrupts the soft barbs. He can’t help but wish he had one of Noctis’ feathers to compare to his own, which draws his gaze towards Noctis’ wings, but he keeps his mouth shut.

After another hour and many turns, Noctis huffs and rubs his probably tired fingers. “I’ve done all I can,” he announces, studying both wings once more for good measure. “Anything else would probably require a doctor,” he adds.

Prompto chooses to ignore the second sentence for the time being. He extends his wings as far as the always-present pain lets him before folding them away, in awe of the difference.

“They’re the best they have been in _years_ ,” he marvels. “Thank you, Noct.”

“It was my pleasure,” Noctis smiles. “I’m happy to help.”

“Do you want to go to bed now, or?”

“Not yet?” Noctis suggests, brushing most of the grey feathers aside to make space for them to lie down. “We could play a little more, or just talk. I don’t feel like sleeping just yet.”

“Wow, I think that should be on the news,” Prompto teases.

Noctis grins. “Oh, shut it.”

They settle down with their wings still out, facing each other while talking with hushed voices. Prompto pulls one blanket off of the pile for them to share so as to ward off the late night chill seeping through the walls, completely content with how it makes them huddle closer together.

The quiet and cozy atmosphere -- along with the night’s events -- softens Prompto’s fears and loosens his tongue: with a barely-audible voice, he tells Noctis about the hopelessness he has felt for so many years regarding his wings and the failed attempts to solve the problem; the days in which he had almost asked for someone’s help, before being stopped on his tracks by insecurity; the animosity he had begun to feel for what is a point of pride for so many people.

Noctis reassures him in an even softer voice whenever he pauses to gather his thoughts, scooting closer and closer until he can entangle their legs and cover Prompto from the rest of the world with a massive black wing. Slowly, the knot in Prompto’s throat dissolves, the tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding fading away like smoke in the wind; emotionally spent, he closes his eyes, cuddling closer to Noctis’ chest.

The feel of a hand brushing against his hair follows him into dreamland -- as does the warmth surrounding him on all sides.

**Author's Note:**

> For some background stuff, since I don't think this is relevant enough to the story to come up in the fic itself: I've carved out the canon turkey for only the tastiest bits. There is no war between Lucis and Niflheim, and although there's probably still some animosity between them, this won't really come up in the story; Tenebrae and everything else in Eos is still independent and whatnot; fuck the starscourge, and fuck bahamut; the royal family still has magic because I think that's cool; Prompto is still a clone, but one of very few surviving ones — Verstael was a mad scientist that got a hold of some mad funding and managed to get some success, but since there's no war and thus no need for huge numbers of clones to serve as MTs (and also no starscourge, which was a big part of it) the project was cancelled and most of the clones were killed or some bullshit. Baby Prompto was taken to Lucis by a scientist that had a sudden flare of consciousness, and left there for adoption, but, again, I don't think this will really come up. (no tattoos.)
> 
> I'm @thefiresofmustafar on tumblr!


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